


... and they were classmates

by Pasteles



Series: Into the College-Verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Bondage, College, College Student Peter Parker, F/M, Father figure Tony Stark, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Reveal, Kidnapping, Not terribly graphic but tagged for your safety, Peter Parker is a Dumbass, Reader Insert, Slow Burn, Some descriptions of like blood, Tony stark wants to be a good dad, injuries, no betas we die like men, peter parker is a sweetheart in the bedroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pasteles/pseuds/Pasteles
Summary: Spider-Man saved your life. Peter Parker let you down.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Reader
Series: Into the College-Verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731616
Comments: 70
Kudos: 239





	1. work hard, play hard

**Author's Note:**

> I, like many, many wonderful people, am in quarantine for the foreseeable future. If I weren’t? I’d be back at my university, which I miss oh so dearly. Let’s vicariously live out the days of being on a college campus again, shall we? 
> 
> I have a plan for this. Hopefully weekly updates? That might be too ambitious as I’ve got remote classes to attend to, but I gotta try!

The average college student spends around 20 hours a week outside of class working on homework. 

Oh, how you wished to be average; you could easily spend double that amount of time on only a handful of assignments. 

And now it was a Friday night, and you found yourself quite unable to leave the library. It wasn’t like you were being held hostage or anything—how exciting that would be. No, instead you were trapped by something much more sinister: a cruel due date. 

“Seriously, I don’t know what kind of psychopath would assign something and make it due on a Saturday morning. What a fucking sadist.” You whispered, leaning forward onto your elbows, your head in your hands. 

“If it’s any consolation, there are at least two hundred other students in the same boat. You’re not suffering alone.” MJ told you in a low voice, gesturing to her own problem set, half-done and littered with doodles in the margins. 

“Thanks, MJ.” You smiled wryly. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Anytime.” She popped her headphones back in and clicked her pen. 

Exhaling deeply, you shifted in your chair and glanced at the clock again. It was nearly 7 pm, and, if your stomach had anything insightful to tell you, it was that you hadn’t taken the time to eat dinner yet. 

Only two problems left, so you grit your teeth and did them, scratching out your thoughts on paper before refining and editing into something that could resemble a well-thought-out, typed response. Your fingers cramped, but you didn’t care. You were so close you could almost taste it. The instant you’d finished pressing send on your laptop, you jumped up out of your chair and slammed it shut. You were free, finally. 

“Keep it down!” MJ hissed, rolling her eyes. She hadn’t been quite so fortunate as to work at the same pace. 

“Sorry.” You replied, not at all sorry. You could only grin a teasing grin before pulling on your jacket and waving goodbye. You had better places to be. Flash’s frat was throwing a party and you didn’t dare miss it—if only for the free booze. You hurried out of the library with a pep in your step you hadn’t had since last Friday night. It was time to party. 

But first, a quick stop at your dorm, if only to drop your bag and change clothes.

—

Tapping your toe impatiently against the curb, you waited for the pedestrian signal to turn so you could cross the street. Watching as the cars whizzed by, their bright headlights cast odd shadows. One of them had a vaguely humanoid shape and you cocked your head, curious at what could’ve made it. As you mused, you were serenaded by a melody of honking horns and rumbling engines. 

Finally, the light changed from green, to yellow, and then to red, and you stepped into the crosswalk, eager to finally put something in your stomach—even if it was only alcohol. 

“Y/N, look out!” 

And with that, a bright flash of light blinded you and you were swept off your feet, hurtled through the air at what felt like a hundred miles a second. You screamed. As soon as it had begun, it was over, and you once more found your feet on firm ground—but on the other side of the street. 

“Are you okay? That guy ran right through that red light!”

You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what had transpired. Spiderman, the real Spiderman, had swung in from nowhere and snatched you out of the crosswalk, his left arm curling securely around your waist. And now, even though you were safely across, his arm still lingered there, ready to support you if you swooned or anything. He had just saved your life. You stared blankly, thoughts racing. Spiderman repeated his question. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

“Yes? Yes, I’m fine. I think.” You replied, a little breathless. You could feel his body heat against you and you unconsciously leaned into him. 

“Good.” He nodded sharply, pulling away and letting his arm drop by his side. For a moment, you missed the warmth. Your heart was pounding, but it was totally because of the near-death experience, right? 

“So, what brought you to this intersection in particular? Or were you looking to get hit by a car tonight?” The whites of Spiderman’s eyes flashed playfully. 

“Oh, no! Not at all, I swear!” You laughed. “I was just on my way to a party.”

“A party? I thought you had a problem set due tomorrow?” The superhero looked genuinely surprised. 

“Yeah, I did, but I finished it. I just spent the last four hours in the library with MJ.” 

Wait. 

“How the fuck did you know that?!”

Although you couldn’t see it, beneath the mask, Peter blanched. 

“Oh! I-uh... I-I-I...” He stammered, scrambling to come up with a good excuse that wouldn’t expose his identity. Luckily for him, you caught on fast. Hey, you weren’t on that merit scholarship for nothing. 

“So you’re in the class too, huh? I’ll leave you to it, then. There’s only a couple hours left for you to turn it in and the last problem really throws you in for a loop, just so you know.” 

You gave a half-hearted shrug and turned to continue on your way towards Flash’s apartment in the nicer part of town. 

“Thanks for saving me, by the way!” 

“No problem. Thanks for the homework help.” He replied softly, astounded that he could have been so stupid. He groaned, tilting his shoulders as he flung a web to the far corner of the intersection, in the opposite direction of where you were headed. In an instant he was gone, soaring high above your head. 

While you walked away, it took everything in your power not to ruminate on the implications of your encounter with Spiderman. 

Spiderman was a student at your school. 

Spiderman was a student in one of your lecture classes. 

Spiderman knew your name?


	2. party on

From the street, the frat house looked tame and quiet, though you knew it was all a farce. Snaking around to the side of the building, you walked down the short alleyway and pushed the fence’s gate in. Flash’s frat had gotten busted for providing alcohol to minors a few years back, and they were still reeling from the university’s sanctions following that. For that reason, all parties were on the DL. As you entered the backyard, a buff frat brother shifted to block the door to the house. 

“Do you have a text?” He asked flatly, perturbed at having to sit outside and guard the door. He was just waiting for his shift to end so he could head back inside and enjoy the party. 

“Yeah, right here.” You held up your phone. Being one of Flash’s acquaintances had its perks, although you didn’t much care for the man. He was far too boastful for your taste. And flirtatious. 

You went inside, wading through the pile shoes strewn haphazardly in the entryway. You opted to keep yours on as you could very well recall that strange stickiness underfoot that always seemed to linger around frat houses. Gross. Making your way downstairs, you felt the bass of the music pounding in your chest. A solo cup was shoved in your hand and you raised an eyebrow at the man who gave it to you. 

“Y/N, glad you could make it!” Flash crooned, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “You’re looking sexy as always.” 

He spoke right into your ear and you could feel the heat of his breath down your neck. You politely took the drink in your hand and forced a smile. He was obviously already quite drunk, so avoiding him for the rest of the evening wouldn’t be a challenge. 

“Thanks, Flash, this looks like an awesome party.” You told him, ducking under his arm and sidling away. You took the drink with you and tossed it out the window the first chance you got. 

“You know, littering’s a felony.” A voice came from right behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. Behind you was none other than Peter Parker, one of MJ’s closer friends. You lived in the same dorm, but on different floors, and had some of the same classes. You saw him around on campus often enough that you considered him an acquaintance, perhaps even a friend, if your conversation ever went beyond stiff small talk. 

“Peter! You scared me!” You pressed your palm over your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart, thanks to that nice spike of adrenaline—the second you’d gotten that night. You pulled the window closed. 

“Aw, I’m sorry, Y/N. I would just hate for you to get arrested, you know?” He laughed. 

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just, Flash gave me the drink and you know I don’t trust that shit. I have no idea what’s in it.”

Wait, really?” Peter’s easy smile disappeared and his lips set into a firm line. 

“Well, I don’t know if he spiked it or not, but it’s just my policy to only have a drink if I know what’s in it. Safer that way.”

Yeah, of course.“ Peter nodded, moving his own drink—bottle of beer—closer to his body. It was still nearly full. 

“Anyway, I was just planning on getting myself a new one, actually, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” You smiled, moving past him and over to the bar. 

After the week you’d had, you really needed a drink. Especially after being saved by Spiderman, who was apparently someone you knew. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop thinking about it, feeling guiltier and guiltier. Of course his identity had to be kept a secret. Spiderman put his life on the line again and again to keep New York safe. It was the least you could do to return the favor and leave the matter alone. Still, curiosity killed the cat. By god, you needed a drink. 

Flash’s frat was a real classy establishment. The “bar” was a folding table in the corner strewn with bottles of all sorts, from Coca-Cola to the cheapest, nastiest vodka imaginable. The bartender was really only there to keep an eye on things, not serve drinks. He sat behind the table on a stool, a vape pen in his hands. You wrinkled your nose and looked over their offerings. 

Grabbing a new red solo cup from the package, you tipped a bit of the vodka in the bottom and drank it quick, before pouring yourself an actual drink. Sure, perhaps manners and decorum would’ve forbidden such a move, but there was a group playing strip beer pong in the corner. From the corner of your eye you saw plaid boxers and lacey underwear get splashed with foamy beer as the ping pong ball sunk into the cup. You heard cheering. 

After getting your drink and returning to the spot by the window, you wracked your brain for something you and Peter could talk about. It wasn’t that you expected to have a good conversation—the blaring music made that impossible—you just didn’t want it to feel awkward. 

“So, did you finish the problem set? It took me forever—not as long as MJ, though. She was so mad when I left her alone in the library.” 

“Oh, yeah, it really wasn’t too bad. I got it done last night.” 

“Must be nice to be brilliant.” 

Peter laughed in response. You smiled warmly, tilting your head back and emptying your drink. You felt a pleasant buzz starting to creep through your body, but it wasn’t enough—not tonight. You made two or three trips back to that stupid folding table to refill your drink, all the while finding little secluded places further and further away from the music where you and Peter could hear each other better to continue your conversation. 

Together, you went from the kitchen, to the laundry room, to a bedroom upstairs—which you were then kicked out of by a couple looking to better utilize the space. Finally, the two of you ended up in the attic, where there was just enough space for two people to sit among the boxes of clutter and paraphernalia. The music and chatter was just a faint pulse below your feet. 

Sitting face to face, knee to knee, on two boxes pushed together, you were surprised with how easily the conversation flowed between you; he was charming, sweet, and funny. Your face was flushed pink—but it was definitely from the alcohol, and nothing else. It was all just drunken fun. Innocent drunken fun. 

“No, no, no, you’ve got to be kidding me.” You snickered, fighting to keep your words from slurring together. 

“I swear I‘m not. Mr. Stark really does have a personal segway! He uses to get all around the Avengers compound upstate. And and and—It’s red and gold like the suit.”

The mental image you conjured sent you doubling over in laughter and you fought to regain your composure. 

“But, why wouldn’t he just use the suit and fly? If I could fly, I so would.” You took another sip from your drink. It was extremely watered down, by Peter’s insistence. 

“So, what is it you do for him, exactly?” 

Peter’s ears flushed and he sheepishly looked away from you, swirling his third (or fourth?) beer in his hand. He didn’t keep pace with you and wasn’t nearly as intoxicated, though, judging from his red cheeks and wide eyes, he wasn’t sober either. 

“Oh, you know, menial stuff. I’m just an intern, so it’s all, like, data entry and coffee runs.” 

“Incredible. Absolutely incredible.” You drained your cup, leaning back to make sure you it was totally empty. In doing so, you lost your balance and fell backwards over the edge of the box. As you went tumbling to the floor, Peter chased after, reflexes still sharp despite his condition. He caught you easily, one hand cradling the back of your head, letting the momentum carry you so he took the brunt of the fall. You ended up on top of him, on the floor, nose to nose.

“Y/N, are you okay?” He asked, his hand moving to cup your face. You nodded, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights, just waiting for his next move.

His shoulder ached from slamming into the floor, but it was so worth it to keep you from hurting yourself. You looked so beautiful to him just then, barely illuminated in the dim attic. His eyes fell to your lips and his heartbeat quickened. 

“Can I kiss you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say I’d publish once a week? Ope, I lied. Never underestimate the power of procrastination and the desire to avoid doing other work. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. party encore

Time seemed to slow to a halt and you were frozen in place, painfully aware of how your bodies pressed together. You felt his hand on the back of your neck, his thumb ever so lightly caressing your cheek. The alcohol coursed through your veins, lowering your inhibitions, but the tiny part of your brain where all your rational thoughts lived was screaming bloody murder; kissing a boy you barely knew in an attic while you were drunk was just a recipe for disaster. You couldn’t go through with this. But...

It was impossible to deny that you were attracted to him. Superficially, he was a perfect Adonis sent to earth for your temptation. And you were just beginning to see that there was more to him than just a cute face, if your conversation over the past hour was any indication. 

You also couldn’t deny that the air between you seemed to spark with electricity, and it wasn’t just because you were being dramatic. Your skin tingled and you were dying to lean in closer, to bridge the gap between you and taste him. There was an incessant urging deep within you that wanted him in the most carnal sense. 

But it was too much, too fast. 

In the end, you hesitated for a moment too long. Peter gently pushed you off of him, his hands lingering on your skin no longer than was strictly necessary. You sat upright and he pulled away. 

“Hey, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have presumed...” 

“No, no it’s okay, I was just—” your words got tangled in your mouth and you stared at him helplessly. “It’s okay.” 

His eyebrows furrowed, Peter avoided making eye contact with you as he finished his beer, tossing the empty bottle into one of the trash cans in the corner. He had perfect aim. 

“I should go.” You said, scrambling to your feet. Dizziness swept over you, but you ignored it as best you could, taking quick, even steps across the attic and to the door. Although you hesitated before pushing it open, you didn’t look back over your shoulder to see if he followed when you did. 

If you had taken that moment to stop and look back, you might’ve seen him jump out the window. 

You let gravity carry you most of the way down the stairs and to the frat house’s main floor, gripping the handrail with more force than necessary. You passed through the kitchen on your way out, spotting Flash passed out on the table. The treads on your shoes stuck to the residue and grime on the kitchen floor, peeling off with a squelching noise each time you lifted your feet. You hurried along, fearing that if you stayed too long in one place, you would be trapped forever. 

For some reason, your mood had soured. The dejected look on Peter’s face as he pushed you away greeted you every time you closed your eyes. Enough time had passed that even your delightful buzz had gone away, leaving you with not much else but a headache and a queasy stomach, to say nothing of your emotional state. 

As you made the walk back to your dorm, you took extra care before crossing each street. If Spiderman were really in one of your classes, then the poor boy already had enough stress in his life to deal with. Again your thoughts crept closer to the forbidden territory of contemplating the masked hero’s identity. You shook your head as if you could force such thoughts out. 

What you didn’t know is that Spiderman watched you from the rooftops as you made your way back to your dorm building, keeping a watchful eye to make sure you were safe and nothing happened to you. 

Peter didn’t think he could stand to have his heart broken twice in one night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what, you didn’t think they’d get together in chapter 3, did you?


	4. oh, it’s a coffeeshop au now

Saturday morning, you tumbled out of bed with a foul taste in your mouth and a sense of uneasiness weighing heavy on your chest. You chugged half the the water bottle you kept on your desk and struggled to recall last night’s events. 

Problem set, Spiderman, vodka, Peter.

Peter. 

Oh, shit. What did you do? What didn’t you do? Wracking your brain, you tried to remember exactly how it went down. You remembered being on top of him—Oh, God—and how close you were to kissing him. You cringed down to your bones when you recalled exactly what you’d said after he pulled away. 

“It’s okay.”

Um, no, it really wasn’t okay. You really fucked it up, didn’t you? Part of you wanted to dive back into bed and pull the covers over your head. You might’ve ruined a friendship in two words. Worse than that, you might’ve ruined any potential for something more as well. 

The very thought of it made your stomach twist in knots. 

—

After a shower and some ibuprofen, you dragged yourself to your favorite coffeeshop, just a few blocks from your dorm. Even if it was a Saturday, the grind never stops. Unfortunately, half of campus had the same bright idea and every table and chair was packed, except for one two-seater in the corner. A man in a hoodie sat alone, hunched over his laptop. You placed your order and went over to him. 

“Hey, do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.” 

The man turned around and you saw it was none other than Peter Parker. Immediately you took a half step back, absolutely mortified to be running into him again after what you’d done last night. You never would’ve asked if you’d have known it was him sitting at the table. It was just too... awkward. Yeah, that was the word for it. 

Peter glanced up at you for a split second and immediately straightened in his chair. 

“Yeah, yeah, no problem.” He said, gathering some of his notebooks and enthusiastically clearing a spot for you on the other end of the tiny table. In his haste, a bit of his coffee sloshed out of his mug and onto the table. The tips of his ears turned pink. 

“I’ll grab some napkins!” You slung your bag over the back of the chair and went back over to the counter to grab a handful, cursing your life choices that brought you to this moment. 

Well, you couldn’t back out now and just leave. Your coffee had been ordered for here and you already had asked to sit down. Leaving so soon would just take the situation from bad to worse. Luckily, he, too, seemed to be unwilling to discuss the elephant in the room. If his gaze lingered on you for just a few moments too many, you pretended not to notice. 

The barista called your name and you grabbed your drink and pastry, taking it back to the cursed little table you and Peter shared. Opening your laptop, you popped your headphones in and tried your best to ignore the tension between you, thick enough to cut with a butter knife. 

You typed away, checking your way through your to-do list by finishing the mundane and boring things, like sending emails and drafting response papers. You were just scrolling through a course page to start a reading when Peter cleared his throat. 

“Hey,” he said. 

You looked up to meet his eye as your heart rate ricocheted sky high. Was he going to try and talk to you about last night? You didn’t know if you could handle that. You were just so, so incompetent at talking about your feelings. What would you even say if he asked you why you didn’t kiss him last night? 

Oh yeah, Peter, I totally would’ve kissed you last night, it’s just that I thought it was a bad idea...

There was a reason you were single. 

“Y/N?” 

You snapped back to reality, tilting your head to acknowledge him. You hoped he couldn’t hear the pounding in your chest. 

“Grades are posted from last night’s problem set.”

“No way. Already?” You asked, simultaneously relieved and disturbed. “It hasn’t even been 24 hours.” 

“I don’t think he sleeps.” 

“Yeah...” you mused, navigating to the course website and clicking on the grades tab. Your heart caught in your throat as you waited for the page to load. 

One unique feature of the class you and Peter were taking was its grading scale. For one, assignments were weighted far heavier than in most over classes, and, two, the curve he used as a benchmark was damning to everyone but the top students. Even with the measly extra credit he offered, you knew you had to work your ass off to get a good grade in his class. Your scholarship depended on it. 

The page loaded. 

“Oh, I am so fucked.” You groaned. Peter raised an eyebrow. 

He was too polite to actually ask, but you answered his question anyway. 

“I totally bombed it. God, that’s not a good sign.” You shook your head and squinted, rereading the page to see if there was a chance you had interpreted it wrong. Unfortunately, your reading comprehension was top-notch. As was your mental math. With a quick calculation, you were able to discern that the only way for you to pass the class would be with the intervention of a miracle. 

A beat passed where neither of you spoke. The hustle and bustle of the coffeeshop carried on just as it had been around you, but you and Peter sat in silence for a moment. 

“You know, I can help you if you’d like. This stuff is my specialty.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Peter lowered his voice. “You’re my friend.”

You choked on your coffee. 

“Thank you.”

“How about we meet up before class on Wednesday? We can go over this week’s assignment then.” 

You nodded vigorously, adding a reminder to your calendar with a few clicks. 

“That would be amazing. Thank you so much, Peter, I owe you one.” 

One what, exactly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out I think the chapters are going to get longer, so I probably won’t be updating as frequently...
> 
> Then again, writing is my coping mechanism for everything going on rn so perhaps they’ll speed up instead!


	5. i’ll be waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I can’t believe my prof expects me to write 800 words for a bio on his news site. There’s a pandemic happening, you know! 
> 
> Also me: *writes 1700 words about Spider-Man precisely because there’s a pandemic*

That Wednesday, you arrived to the study lounge fifteen minutes before the time you’d agreed upon to meet. It was in the same building as class, so the two of you would just walk down together once you’d finished. You took one of the big tables by the window and set up your laptop and notes for easy reference. It was so nice of him to offer to help you, you thought. 

You only hoped it wouldn’t be awkward between you. Would he try to force the subject of the party when he came? Or would he ignore it again, just as you’d been trying to do? 

You twisted the cap of your pen in your hands and watched the clock. As the minutes crept by, closer and closer to the appointed meeting  
time, you decided to go back through and annotate your notes in preparation. 

But your mind kept wandering back to Peter. A quick glance at the clock told you he’d be a little late, but that was okay. You noticed how he would show up late to class more often than not, with his hair all mussed up—from running, you assumed. Just thinking about the endearing little smile he would give you when you made eye contact across the classroom warmed your heart. 

Was there a way for you to tell him the night at the party was a mistake? Maybe... if you could only find the words. And the courage, because the truth was, you did like him, perhaps more than just a friend if he would let you. 

Lost in thought, you were startled back to the present by someone entering the lounge. You immediately straightened up and turned to greet him, but it wasn’t Peter. Ducking your head in embarrassment, you checked the time again. He was really and truly late. 

Was it because you didn’t kiss him at the party? 

No, it couldn’t be that. It just couldn’t. Peter didn’t seem like the type to be vindictive. He seemed far too noble for that. 

Right?

Still, as you watched the rest of the hour tick away you had a rising sense of uneasiness in your gut. You shot MJ a text, asking if she’d heard from him. She hadn’t. You considered texting him and asking where he was, but didn’t want to seem desperate. 

Five minutes later, you didn’t care if you seemed desperate. You typed it out quick and hit send before you could change your mind. 

/hey it’s Y/N. are we still meeting today?/ 

No reply. 

You waited until class was about to begin, and then you reluctantly packed up your things and left, shame gathered in a pit in your stomach. Why didn’t he come? 

When you arrived at the lecture hall, you weren’t surprised to see that Peter wasn’t there either. Also unsurprisingly, neither was MJ. She never bothered with the whole attendance thing, especially if the professor never checked. You got out your laptop and double-checked that your phone was on silent before the lecture started. Maybe Peter would try to text you. 

“Hey, Y/N, how’s it going?” Liz, another student in the class you vaguely knew, greeted you with a smile when you were paired up for some practice exercises. According to MJ, Peter had a huge crush on her while they were underclassmen in high school, but she had moved away and then come back for university. Your skin prickled and you would’ve rather been partnered with a bear instead. As long as the bear didn’t have a personal relationship with Peter Parker. 

“Not too bad. This class is lowkey killing my GPA though.” You shrugged, glancing over at Peter, who had stumbled in late, from the corner of your eye. He was partnered with some freshman, guiding him through the lab step by step. Had he forgotten the promise he made you, or was he ignoring you on purpose? 

Liz laughed, throwing her head back, and your gaze snapped back to her. 

“Oh, you and me both! Peter and I were planning on heading to the library after this to go over the problem set. You can totally join us if you want. We can help you out.” She smiled again, bright and blinding. 

“No, thanks though. I’ve got a prior engagement.” Your smile it didn’t reach your eyes. The shame in your stomach festered, making you feel sick. 

—

As soon as your professor dismissed the class for the day, you beelined for the exit as fast as you could. If you heard Peter calling your name behind you, you ignored it. Your pride had taken enough of a beating for the day. 

Walking from the academic building back to your dorm took about ten minutes on a good day, but your rage-fueled stomp got you there in seven. You threw your bag down and flopped face-first on your bed, not even bothering to take your shoes off. 

You stayed like that for far longer than you’d care to admit, you mind running itself weary by going through all the possible reasons Peter Parker might’ve had to ignore you like that. At the end of it, you were no closer to an answer but you’d worried yourself into a splitting headache. You needed fresh air. And there was only one place you knew would satisfy: your dorm’s rooftop. 

Back during the last semester, one of the RAs had let it slip that one could theoretically access the roof via a ladder and a hatch in the janitor’s closet on the top floor. Since then, the roof had become your respite when you needed to get away from it all and stare longingly at the lights of the city. It was cheaper than therapy. 

The janitors always left the supply closet unlocked for ease of access, and you were very grateful. In no time you had managed to scale the rickety ladder and push the trapdoor open, letting the sharp, cool air wash over your face. It felt so good you paused a second at the apex of the ladder, enjoying the feeling. 

A little while later, while you were watching the city lights twinkle and glow, you heard the thud of feet behind you. Immediately, you ducked to hide behind one of the big square mechanical units that lined the rooftop. You’d never been caught before and did not plan on getting caught tonight. 

“I didn’t know we were playing hide ‘n seek!” A joyful voice called from over your head. You straightened up, coming nose-to-nose with New York’s favorite red and blue superhero. Well, maybe Captain America was their favorite instead. You didn’t actually know. 

“Oh God, you again.” You said flatly. After a moment you realized how sarcastic that came across and you clapped your hand over your mouth. 

“Sorry, Spiderman, it’s been a really bad day.” 

“I see.” He said thoughtfully. After a moment, he crossed over to the edge of the rooftop, sitting on the ledge. Spiderman looked back at you and emphatically patted the space next to him, motioning for you to join him. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. You reluctantly sat down on the ledge, nervously eyeing the street a dozen stories below you. Your feet dangled. 

“Sure.” You said, sounding utterly unconvincing. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

You thought for a moment. He was the friendly neighborhood Spiderman, after all. Who else would be better to explain it all to, to he who had no stake in the relationship?

Wait. 

“Do you know Peter Parker?” 

“Do I what? No! Never met him.” Spiderman replied, a little too quickly. You, quite focused enough on your struggles, thought nothing of his odd reaction. 

“Okay, well, heard a rumor that he—Peter—had an internship with Tony Stark. That means there’s a possibility you two know each other. Now, hear me when I say, if you ever tell him a single thing I’m telling you now, I will kill you. Got it?”

“Uh huh.” Spiderman said, but it came out more like a squeak. 

“I fucking hate him.” You continued, flopping flat on your back and looking up at the sky. “He stood me up.”

Beneath the mask, Peter cringed at your words. It tore him up inside to hear you talk about him that way. You, of all people.

It wasn’t that he had meant to stand you up. It just so happened that he has gotten caught up in trying to stop a bank robbery—really, it was like the fifth one this month, couldn’t banks just get better security? Or, better yet, couldn’t bank robbers give it a rest for once? 

Pursuing them had taken him off campus while you had planned to meet, and to make things worse his phone had been stolen out of the alley he left his backpack in. Truly, it was horrible timing all around and he felt terrible about it. He had meant to apologize after class, but you ran out without even looking back. 

He was ecstatic to see you on the roof of your dorm building—how you got up there, he didn’t know.m—so he dropped down without thinking. Peter felt so guilty for leaving you hanging that afternoon and he desolately wanted to make it up to you, to prove himself to you. 

But how could do that without revealing his identity? Peter really needed to think before he leapt. 

“Uh uh uh, maybe he had a good reason... maybe his car broke down.” 

“Peter doesn’t have a car.” You shook your head. “No, I don’t even care that he couldn’t come. People are busy; it happens. The fact of the matter is that he didn’t communicate it with me and he left me high and dry. And after all that he didn’t even fucking apologize. And then—“

You abruptly cut yourself off. You were going to say “and then he went with Liz to the library afterward,” but you realized how childish and petty that made you sound. It wasn’t like you and Peter were a thing, so what did it matter to you that he spent his time with other people?

Still, it hurt that he would help her with the problem set but not you. You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself inside and out. You wrapped your arms around yourself, the cold concrete of the roof seeping through your jacket and chilling your spine. 

“Maybe I’m old fashioned, but if you make someone a promise you stick to it.” You concluded. 

“Yeah.” Spiderman coughed. “I agree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole this plot from my own life... freshman year my partner for a film project stood me up the day I was supposed to film him and get raw tape so I had NOTHING to show the prof the next day and I am STILL enraged about it. He never apologized or told me why he didn’t show either. Robin, if you’re reading this, you’re an asshole.


	6. playing with fire

After that evening on the rooftop, you started to see Spiderman around more often. Mostly, he would just be passing by, slinging his webs from building to building, but you had noticed that, 9 times out of 10, if you were up on the rooftop, he would join you at some point. Even caught in the throes of winter, you still made excuse after excuse to sit up there and pass the time watching the city. Spiderman did too. 

And it was on precisely one of those evenings, where the hazy grey sky seemed to press down upon you, when you realized that you were scanning the skyline for the superhero and waiting for him to come. You could no longer pretend that the rooftop was a place meant for you and only you, but rather a placed to be shared. Your nose was red with the cold, but you weren’t going to admit that you ought to go inside. At least, not until you’d gotten to see him. 

It was a stupid game you were playing, and you knew it. He was a superhero, for chrissakes, with a thousand and one more valuable things to be doing, lives to be saving. On top of that, you thought wryly, he was also a college student, with all those responsibilities weighing on him as well. You wondered how he did it, especially considering a midterm exam coming up in the class you knew you shared. 

Come as if to answer your question, you spotted the man himself, gracefully flipping through the air and landing on the roof a few feet away from you. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face when you saw him. Turning your body away from him, you redirected your gaze back to the skyline.

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” You raised your arm, gesturing vaguely to the surroundings. You never quite knew what to say when he dropped by. 

“You should see it from up there.” He tilted his head back. 

“I’ll never get used to the light of city.” You confessed. “Back home, it actually gets dark at night. 

“It does? No way!” He laughed, taking a seat next to you. 

“You know what I mean.” You rolled your eyes, pulling your jacket tighter around you. Spiderman straightened, sheepishly running a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Actually, not really. I was born and raised in Queens. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Huh.” You mused, staring up at the clouds and the glare of the city. “You wouldn’t believe the stars you can see if you’re lucky enough to have a clear night. Way more than you can here. Light pollution and all that.”

“Really?” 

“Oh yeah, as a matter of fact—“

You were interrupted by a faint beeping. 

“Oh, shit, my web fluid is low.” Spiderman said, raising his wrists and squinting. He fiddled around with some controls on his suit and the beeping stopped. 

“So it’s a fluid you put into the suit? Like brake fluid in a car?” You asked curiously. Apparently, it was the most ridiculous thing he’d heard all year. When Spiderman laughed, it filled his body, shaking his stomach and shoulders. He nodded, presenting his left hand to you, palm up, so you could see how the mechanism fit against his wrist. 

“Sort of,” he grinned, “but it’s a little bit more complicated.”

Unable to resist, you traced your finger down his palm, fascinated by the sheer brilliance of the technology. If you noticed him shiver, you thought it was because of the cold. 

“So then how does it work?” 

He guided your hand to press the button at the heel of his hand, releasing the web fluid with a cool thwip. You watched as it soared through the air and stuck to one of the chimney pipes a few feet away from you. 

“Well, I came up with the formula myself. It took a lot of trial and error, but by the time I was a junior in high school I had it.” He said proudly as you squashed the substance between your fingers, fascinated. 

“You know, Spidey, I’m starting to suspect something.” 

The superhero stilled and you wiped your hands on your pants. 

“What? I’m innocent.” He laughed awkwardly. 

“I think you’re being reckless. I know I’m not supposed to know your identity. I know that it’s dangerous. So why are you telling me all this stuff about you, unless you want to get found out?” 

He considered for a moment before speaking softly. 

“Something about being with you makes me feel reckless.”

“My, my, are we flirting now?” You pretended to swoon. 

“No!”

You could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Whatever you say. So, I hate to step on a beautiful moment like this, but we have an exam tomorrow. I think I’m gonna go cram for it until my eyes bleed.” 

Spiderman’s eyes widened. 

“We have an exam tomorrow?!”

——-

As the winter wore on, the temperatures dropped and you found yourself totally unable to justify sitting on the roof, risking windburn, just to see the superhero. You hoped he would understand, wondering if he ever passed your dorm and looked for you on the rooftop. It was only a natural progression, you supposed, that he’d go from visiting you on the rooftop to stopping by your window instead. 

The first time you’d heard someone tapping on your window, you nearly jumped out of your skin in surprise. You stood there in shock, blinking rapidly to make sure you weren’t just seeing things and, yes, Spiderman was clinging to the side of the building like some sort of overdressed window washer. You pushed the window open and stuck your head out, greeted by a gust of cold wind that raised the hair on the back of your neck and covered your skin in goosebumps 

“Aren’t you worried someone’s going to see you breaking and entering?”

“Not if you let me in fast.” He quipped. You rolled your eyes, stepping back so he could crawl in through the window. The school was too cheap to install screens on the inside of the windows, so the windows failed to keep the bugs out. 

He opted to take the ceiling route rather than the floor, and you watched as he navigated his way across your dorm. It was quite unnerving to see a full-grown man upside down, firmly attached to your ceiling by nothing more than his fingers and toes. Unsticking and dropping down with surprising grace, Spiderman shook his hands as if they were wet. 

“Gross,” he said. “I hate popcorn ceilings. They feel so weird.” He rubbed his hands together. 

“I’ll let res services know. I’m sure they’ll change them just for you.” You joked. “What can I do for you, Spiderman?” 

“Nothing in particular,” he said brightly. “I’m just dropping by.”

“Ha.”

Your eyes swept your tiny dorm room quickly, making sure you didn’t have anything left out in the open that was too untidy or too embarrassing. Luckily, you had just started a load of laundry, so any dirty clothes you had were no longer strewn across your floor. You’d also made your bed that morning, something you were immensely grateful for. 

“Well, come in, sit down. I know there’s not much room, but I can take the desk and you can it on my bed if you’d like. Or you can sit at the desk—“ You rambled, suddenly very aware of the implications of having a superhero in your bedroom. What were you thinking? 

Well, certainly a whole lot more than you would let on. The thought of Spiderman in your bed... 

“We could both sit on the bed.” 

Your cheeks flamed. 

“Yeah, great idea!”

Your bed was lofted for storage underneath, so you had to do the awkward little half-jump it took to up on top. Spiderman, although he wasn’t all that much taller than you, managed to get up with much more grace. Damn superheroes making us normal people look stupid. Desperate to find something to talk about to diffuse the slightly awkward situation, you fell back upon a the safest, blandest topic for college students. 

“So, what’s your major?” You cringed the moment the words left your mouth. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask. What if it compromised his identity because he was in some obscure program like Arachnid Studies or something? You wanted to smack yourself. 

“Oh, I’m in a double major. One of them is physics and I’ll leave the other one a mystery.” 

Smart. The class you shared was a physics class, so there were easily a hundred other physics majors in it. His identity was protected as much as it was obscured. 

“I bet I can guess the second.” You joked. “Theatre? Vocal performance? Advanced Puppetry?” 

“Damn, you’ve got me.” he laughed. “What’s yours?”

“Oh, I’m undecided at the moment. Just knocking out some generals before I decide anything. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” 

—-

One minute, everything was fine, and the next it was the week before finals. You could feel the pressure mounting from each class as final presentations were assigned and exams were arranged. You weren’t particularly worried about most of your classes, just the physics one. Your problem set grade was still low enough that you needed to excel on the final for a decent grade. 

You were in the dining hall arguing with MJ over a plate of mediocre-at-best pasta. Thought the sun had set, she was drinking a cup of fully caffeinated coffee. You were making plans to study together when Peter came up behind you, waving hi to MJ over your shoulder. 

“How about in the library tomorrow? Maybe at 2 or 3? It’s going to take me forever to go through the review problems.” You told her.

“Y/N, is there any way I could—“ Peter was trying to offer his help. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” You cut him off and glared over your shoulder. “So, MJ, the library...”

Peter, recognizing that he wasn’t wanted, turned and walked away before he said something he regretted. Something foolish that he knew would make you laugh. It really hurt to have you be so hot and cold with him, though you couldn’t have known it was the same person beneath the mask. He felt like he was playing with fire, getting close to you while he was in disguise. Sooner or later, he would get burned. He was certain of it. Only, he didn’t know which side of the mask would get hurt. 

“A little harsh, Y/N.” MJ said under her breath, narrowing her eyes. You exhaled sharply out your nose and pretended you didn’t hear her. 

“Tomorrow at 2?” You confirmed. MJ nodded. 

“Yeah, whatever.” She tipped the rest of her coffee down her throat. “See you then.”

“Bye.” 

She gathered up the rest of her dishes and took them to the dumbwaiter, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I have a fixation with rooftops, you might ask? The rooftop of the dorm I used to live in was apparently the site of some WILD parties during the 60s and 70s, so all access to it to this day is totally blocked off. RIP roof parties :(


	7. the ethics of pursuing your crush as your alter-ego//no, it is not ethical to pursue your crush as your alter-ego

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you’ve read the title of this chapter you can’t say I didn’t warn you

Later that evening, you turned off your lights and went to bed, hoping for a quiet night in where you could get to sleep early. Surely enough, you heard a frantic tapping on your window and there was Spiderman. So much for those plans. Still, it was odd that he would stop by at this hour. He’d never been by so late before. 

“Hey Y/N. Can I come in?” He panted, pressing a hand to the glass. There was an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before.

Wordlessly, you unlocked the window and pushed it open. He collapsed inward, catching himself on your bed frame before he hit the ground. Your eyes widened. Spiderman almost seemed to be in shock, numb to his surroundings. 

“Oh my God, are you hurt?”

“Yeah.” He grimaced, doubling over. You helped him onto your bed and he sat gingerly on the edge, as if he was worried about getting blood on your bedsheets. 

“What can I do to help?” Your heart was racing. 

“Can you call someone on your phone for me? He’ll be able to help me.” He asked in a soft voice. You nodded, groping through your pockets before you found it. 

“What’s the number?” 

“Let me dial it. I have it memorized.”

“Wow, what a rarity these days.” You tried to make a joke but there was no humor in your voice. He dialed quickly, so thankful that Mr. Stark had given him his personal cell. He remembered when he was a lot younger and he only had Happy’s number in his phone. Those were simpler times. 

It rang only twice before Tony picked up. 

“Hey Mr. Stark, it’s me Pe-Spiderman! It’s Spiderman.” He heard a deep sigh on the other end of the line and he hunched his shoulders forward. 

“What did you do now?” You heard on the other line, presuming it was Tony Stark speaking. 

Suddenly feeling like you were invading his privacy, you decided now was the best time to go borrow your RA’s first aid kit. You whispered that you’d be right back and left your dorm room, making sure to grab your key on the way out. 

Your RA lived all the way at the end of the hall and you practically ran the whole way there, passing identical doorway after doorway, each decorated with a name tag made out of construction paper. You frantically knocked on her door, praying that she was on duty. Luckily, she was, and she promptly pulled the door open. 

“Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”

“Can I borrow your first aid kid? I, uh, cut myself shaving.” You lied easily, thankful to be wearing long pajama pants that could conceivably cover up your legs and corroborate your story. 

“Yeah, totally, that’s what it’s for.” 

She disappeared for a minute and came back with a thick plastic box with a flimsy handle. You knew for a fact she kept it well-stocked, but you weren’t expecting just how heavy it would be when she passed it to you. 

“Thanks, Adriana.” 

“No problem. But try getting a new razor if yours is cutting you up that badly.” She raised an eyebrow but commented no further.

Balancing the kit on your hip, you lugged it back to your room, knocking on the door before you unlocked it so Spiderman knew your were entering. He was no longer on the phone, but he stayed hunched over, staring at the floor. When he saw you come in, he palmed then spider emblem on his chest and his suit seemed to detach from his body. Though the mask stayed on, covering just to the top of his clavicle, he stripped the rest of the suit off to his waist. 

Looking at him, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes scanned his chest, taking in the various bruises and contusions and scrapes. His left shoulder seemed to be the main problem; a deep gash stretched from just to the side of his heart upwards towards his face, stopping at the edge of the mask. Was someone trying to take his head off? You sucked in a sharp breath and set the first aid kit on your desk, cracking it open and splaying its insides. Bandaids and gauze and alcohol prep pads spilled out. 

“Mr. Stark said to try and stop the bleeding. C-can you do that?” Spiderman said from behind you. 

“Yeah, I can. Let me just wash my hands first, I don’t want to...” You let the end of the sentence hang in the air as you ran out the door, leaving it ajar. In the bathroom, you scrubbed your hands with a quiet fury, adding more and more soap out of paranoia, to compensate for the fact that you had no idea what you were doing. The water was cold; you didn’t have time to wait for it to heat up. 

You raced back to your room, pushing the door open with your hip so you didn’t contaminate your hands. You snatched some of the alcohol wipes and tore them open. Facing him, you raised your hand, hesitating.  
It was just so strange to see him like this; the thought occurred to you. Here, he wasn’t a superhero. He was just a man. A vulnerable one at that, if the drops of blood, falling like tears, were any indication. 

When you touched his skin, just a steadying hand on his other shoulder, he flinched. 

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely, “it’s just that your hand is cold.” 

“I’m sorry!” You pulled away, but he caught your wrist with lightning fast reflexes. 

“It’s okay.” He said, placing it back where it was. Your thumb fit comfortably in the divot of his clavicle. With your left hand, you lightly traced the edges of the cut with the prep pad, the cloth quickly becoming soaked with blood. Ignoring how he hissed every time the alcohol stung his skin, you switched it out two or three times for a fresh one, hoping to sanitize the skin around the cut as quick as you could. After, you grabbed a wide swath of gauze and wrapped it around your hand, pressing it against his chest with firm, even pressure. 

“I think this will help, I just need to hold it here... for awhile. How long will it take for Mr. Stark to get here?” 

“Not too long, I don’t think.” He drew in a shaky, uneven breath. “There’s a tracker in the suit. He’s got my exact location so it shouldn’t take too long.” 

You nodded wordlessly, and a moment passed in silence. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He said, but he didn’t mean it. 

“Why did you come to me?” You let the question hang in the air. “I mean, Lily down the hall is a pre-med. She could fix you up a whole letter better than I can, I think.”

You laughed by yourself, hands shaking as you continued to press the gauze to the steadily bleeding wound on his shoulder. You tried to keep your eyes from wandering and for the most part failed. Obviously he was a superhero with, like, super strength and stuff so his muscles were so well-defined and glorious you couldn’t help but sneak an appreciative glance now and then. 

Good lord, he was super attractive. 

“A million reasons.” 

“What?” You stared at his face, trying to discern the emotions under the mask. The whites of his eyes were large and vulnerable-looking, and he continued. 

“I came here because I’m reckless, because I’m crazy. Because I trust you, Y/N. Because I care about you.” 

You inadvertently leaned in, finding your foreheads were close enough to touch. His words sunk in, warming your skin and causing your heart to race. Spiderman cared about you? The thought set a thousand butterflies loose in your gut. 

He shifted in his seat on your bed. Even though he was sitting, he was still an inch or two taller than you. You watched as he pulled the bottom portion of his mask and yanked it up so that the lower half of his face was exposed. His hands found your waist, fisting in the fabric of the loose shirt you were wearing, pulling you closer towards him. Your hips hit the bed frame, nestled between his thighs. 

You tilted your head, feeling his breath warm on your skin. You dropped the gauze—how irresponsible—and your hands flew to cup his face, pulling him across the last few millimeters of space between you. You closed your eyes and kissed him, melting into his embrace. One of his hands slid under your shirt and pressed flat against the small of your back, which sent shivers up your spine. The other snaked behind your head, caressing the back of your neck. He nipped at your lower lip and you returned the favor. 

Chest heaving, you pulled away, but only so far that you could look at him fully. You traced your hand from his jaw down to his neck. The wound on his chest had stopped bleeding, but he still looked worse for wear. You were dying to know who he was, for real. You stole one last quick kiss before you worked up the courage to cross that line. 

Moving slowly so he would have plenty of time to stop you if he wanted, your hands slowly traced up his shoulders to his neck, up to his jaw. You gripped the bottom of his mask and pulled upward, revealing the rest of his face. Your closed your eyes tightly as you held the mask in your hands, now detached. 

You didn’t know if you wanted to open them. 

“It’s okay.” He said, and your eyes snapped open of their own accord. 

His brown eyes, full of warmth and longing, met yours and for a moment that was all you could see, and you were happy. But that moment passed and that happiness disappeared like a mirage in the desert seen by delirious eyes. 

“Peter?” You felt sick to your stomach.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Your hands went numb, clenching and unclenching around the mask you held, trying to bring feeling back into them. Stepping back away from your bed, you leaned against your desk, hoping to steady yourself. Spider-Man was Peter Parker. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. You felt like you’d been struck with lightning. 

“Is this a joke to you?” Your thoughts whirled through your head so fast you thought you might get whiplash. Why would he do this? How could he do this? How could he play with your feelings like this? 

“You’ve—you’re... I don’t understand. Why have you been—“

There were a million questions you needed answers. What did he want from you? Your heart seized when you connected the dots. 

It was probably all just some ego trip. Peter probably couldn’t stand being rejected and he decided that he had to have you, in any way possible. Even if it meant playing with your feelings like some cheap toy. And you had let him! Worst of all you had fallen right into his trap. The very thought of it filled you with white-hot rage. 

“Do you know how cruel what you’ve been doing is? You’ve been leading me on this whole time so you could what, get in my pants? Jesus Christ, did any of this mean anything to you? Or were you just mad that I rejected you and you decided to use everything at your disposal to finally get me? What the fuck, Peter! You don’t do that to a person!” The words flowed out of you like lava from a fissure in the earth’s crust, but you didn’t regret a single one. 

“No, no it’s not like that I swear! I care about you, I-I—“

“Do you think you could come and drop this on me and we would just be fine after? God, I don’t fucking believe you!” 

An incessant beeping filled the room, and you could only assume that it meant that Tony Stark was nearby and waiting. 

And nobody kept Tony Stark waiting. 

“Get out.”

“Y/N, let me explain. Please.” His voice was a whimper. He was already so tired, weary in his bones. The cut on his shoulder and the bruises down his rib cage burned, but not so much as the look in your eyes as you shook your head. 

“Stay away from me, Peter.” Your voice was cold. “You played me for a fucking fool.” 

Peter fixed his suit, pulling it back around himself like armor, hiding the cuts and the scrapes and the hurt. As he got ready to leap out the window, he took a moment to look back over his shoulder. He wished he could stay and explain, and beg for your forgiveness. He had sworn to himself he wouldn’t do this again—hurt you, that is. 

For once, this was a problem Spiderman couldn’t fix.


	8. let the ethics board review

Peter didn’t come to class the next day. You weren’t surprised, by any means, but it didn’t make it any easier to sit and listen to the professor drone and click through the slides. Your bounced your foot, turning the page in your notebook to a fresh one. Following the events that transpired that day in your dorm room, you had started to make lists to organize your thoughts. It was the least you could do before your brain melted into a puddle of goo, for lack of a better description. You scrawled in tight handwriting across the page, trying to work through the latest round of intrusive thoughts. 

1\. Peter Parker was Spiderman.   
2\. You were, unfortunately, still painfully in love with Peter Parker AKA Spiderman, and that seemed highly unlikely to change anytime soon.   
3\. However, Peter Parker AKA Spiderman had used his superhero powers for evil instead of good when he used his secret identity to get close to you and to try and get in your pants.   
4\. You weren’t totally convinced by #3

#4 was your least favorite of them all. If #4 was true, then you were in deep shit, because you had to confront some uncomfortable truths about the realities of your own actions.   
It would have been so, so fucking easy to write Peter off as an awful person and never think of him again. However, no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t push him out of your mind. You pored over every memory of him that you shared, under the mask and not, trying to find a hint of depravity, a foreshadowing of his intentions. No matter how hard you looked, you could only ever find traces of sincerity and sweetness. 

Has you gotten it all wrong? Even from the beginning? 

Even that day when he’d stood you up. You went back through the news archive and discovered that Spiderman was off fighting crime and saving the city, at the same time he’d said he would meet you. How on earth could you hold that against him? The safety of the city was certainly worth more than one lousy problem set. 

How could you try to make amends? 

Fact #4 was a thorn in your side, haunting you day in and day out. You scribbled angry, sharp lines into the margins. 

“Hey, are you okay? You’re frowning way more than you normally do.” MJ leaned over towards you, her voice a whisper. 

“I’m fine.” You scrambled to cover the page of your notebook, lest she see what you were writing. Luckily, she didn’t seem the least bit interested in it. 

“Suit yourself.” She didn’t pry any further. You appreciated that. 

After class, you walked with her to the library. She had that look on her face—eyebrow raised, mouth set in a half-frown—like she knew exactly what was coming. God, you were so lucky to have a friend like her to vent to. You made a mental note to, like, buy her a Starbucks gift card or something for putting up with your shit. 

“So like,” you cleared your throat, “what if there was a hypothetical situation where there was this guy that you really, really liked, and you thought he liked you back—“

“Slow down or you’re gonna hyperventilate.” 

You shot her a glare and she quirked a smile. 

“So you think he likes you back so you kiss him, but then you find out something that makes it seem like everything was a lie and he was just trying to use you.”

“Dump his ass. That’s really creepy.”

“Thanks, MJ.” 

You had hardly expected to hear anything different, but you were no more certain of which way to turn than you were before. In the library, any attempt to work on schoolwork quickly devolved into making those lists again. This one was particularly unhelpful: 

1\. You were in love   
2\. You hated yourself for being in love  
3\. You needed to kick that love thing to the curb, and fast. 

Because it was immediately followed by:

1\. You needed to make amends for the awful thing you’d accused Peter of without any proof  
2\. You needed to apologize for assuming the worst in his intentions   
3\. You needed to talk to him.   
4\. You needed to kiss him again. 

Gritting your teeth, you scribbled out #4. Feeling particularly cowardly, #3 for the same treatment. So did #2. With a huff, you tore the power from your notebook and shoved it in your pocket. 

If MJ noticed your odd behavior (of course she did), she didn’t comment on it. She just thought you were going through some shit. It was so weird, actually. One of her other friends, Peter Parker, was going through some shit too. It must’ve been going around campus like mono or something. MJ shuddered—she had never been more glad to be aro.

—

Following that shockingly unproductive study session, you had come up with a game plan to follow. In list format, of course. 

How To Cope:

1\. Avoid Peter Parker at all costs.   
2\. Avoid Peter Parker at all costs.   
3\. Avoid Peter Parker at all costs.

Until the circumstances are such that the following conditions are met:

1\. You are brave enough to face him. 

You rested easy, content with your horribly immature plan; the circumstantial requirement made any other action was absolutely impossible. You were perfectly content with being a coward and avoiding your problems until they went away; it was quite comfortable and safe, after all. 

It also offered you an easy out. Theoretically, if Peter’s motives were solely about getting into your pants, going a few weeks without a single glimpse of said pants would eliminate any driving force there, so he would leave you alone after that and you wouldn’t have to worry about it. At least, that was the lie you tried to sell yourself. At the same time, you tried not to even let yourself consider the other options. 

Unfortunately, while coming up with the plan you didn’t realize how exhausting it was to live in the same building as someone you were hell-bent on avoiding. You had to second-guess your every move. Should you take the north stairwell or the south one? Well, Peter’s room was closer to the north one, so the south was the way to go. Could you go and hang out in the lounge on the first floor? No, on Tuesdays and Thursdays Peter usually was there playing Dungeons and Dragons with a whole gang of other sophomores. They took up the tiny kitchen table, leaving the couches free. 

A lot of times, you would sit in your favorite spot by the window and pretend to read a book, while really you were listening in on the game. It wasn’t like you were eavesdropping or anything—no, the game regularly drew spectators. You just pretended not to be one of them. 

As you sat in your room, trying to read your book for real, you realized that your plan didn’t take into account how much you’d miss hearing Peter’s voice. To cope, you stayed out of the building as much as you could. 

After only a week and a half, you spent much of your time crashed on the couch in MJ’s apartment. She’d somehow gotten herself exempted from the live-on-campus housing requirement—and you were almost certain she’s forged someone’s signature to do so. 

By Friday night, you were certain MJ had gotten fed up with you being “emotionally constipated” in her living room, as she told you. She kicked you out early that evening, claiming a headache. You had only been back in your dorm for ten minutes when there was a knock at your door. Your lip curled. He must’ve been waiting for you to return. 

“Y/N? It’s Peter. Can we talk? Please?”

You cracked the door open. 

“I’m not really sure I’ve got anything to say to you.” You tried to keep your voice neutral and soft, hiding most of your body behind the door. Part of you longed to stop, to let him in so you could make amends. But part of you still was stubbornly resistant, and it won over every time. You pushed the door closed, resting your forehead against the cool wood. 

It was the principle of the matter, you reminded yourself. If you didn’t have principles, what did you have? 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” It wasn’t hard for you to hear Peter on the other side of the door. It was thin as cardboard. “Please, let me explain.”

“What’s left to explain?” You loathed the bitter edge to your voice, but it spilled from your mouth before you could stop it. Feeling guilty, you opened the door and let him in. 

Besides, if you were about to have some sort of emotionally-charged conversation, you didn’t want everyone in the hallway hearing. 

“This better be good.” You tried to be snarky, but missed the mark and veered towards cold and cruel.

Peter smiled sadly. As you looked at him, you couldn’t help but still see the scared, wounded boy who’d tumbled through your window only a week before. You wondered how the healing process was going—did he have special healing powers? You were dying to ask about that. How could you have suspected him of having such awful ulterior motives? Looking away, you squashed those thoughts. 

“So, is there anything else you’ve been keeping from me that I should know? Who are you, really?” You asked. 

That was the million dollar question. 

Peter saw his chance and took it. 

“I’m just a boy, standing in front of a girl, asking her to love him.”

The sheer ridiculousness of it all made you bark with unwitting laughter. 

“Peter Parker, you did NOT just quote Notting Hill to me.”

“It’s a good movie?” His eyes glimmered with something you couldn’t quite decipher. Hope? Mirth? Tears? 

“Well, in that case, I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy she doesn’t know. Have a good night, Peter.” 

You made towards the door, intending to open it and show him to the hallway. Apparently, having superhuman abilities had its perks. He raced by you, beating you to it and blocking it with his body. You found yourself nose-to-nose, but you yielded, taking a few steps back to keep your distance. 

“No,” he said. “You know what? No. I’m not doing this anymore. This whole time you’ve never ever even given me the chance to talk and explain myself. Even before...”

He gesticulated wildly. 

“Everything that happened. You’ve been holding me at arm’s length this whole time and I’ve never gotten a word in. You never let me talk, you never let me apologize, and you never let me explain!” His eyes were aflame as he spoke.

A knot of tension started to build in your stomach. He was totally right, and you couldn’t even pretend otherwise.

“Y/N,” he continued, “You can hate me all you want after I’m done talking but just let me do this now. I never meant for us to—I never wanted to...” He tripped over his words, leaning his shoulder into the doorframe. Peter’s chin dropped and he spoke to the floor, losing the gruff, impassioned tone he had previously spoken with. His voice now was soft and low. 

“Look, I’m not trying to make excuses, but I’ve been in love with you since we met on move-in day freshman year, did you know? Do you even remember?” He looked up at you, his eyes meeting yours and locking you in place with his gaze. 

You blushed. You didn’t know. You hadn’t remembered, but he jogged your memory like a spark. 

It was late summer, but the humidity and heat of the city was in no hurry to yield to autumn. You were giddy with excitement to finally be at college, in a dorm of your very own. You had just finished moving all of your suitcases and boxes into your room, hot and sweaty with the exertion. Taking a break to go and get lunch, you went into the stairwell. When you got down to the landing on the floor below yours, you ran into a boy—Peter—trying to navigate carrying an absurdly cumbersome box and opening the door to exit the stairwell. 

“Hey, let me get that for you!” You had said, squeezing past him to grab the door, yanking it open so he could get by. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” You had smiled brightly. 

“When I close my eyes, I can still see the way you smiled at me, clear as day. All last year and most of this year, too, I never saw it again. But I saw it that night I saved you and, well, I couldn’t leave it at that. You never let me get close to you when I was myself, when I was just me, so I did the only thing I could think of to get to know you better.“ 

“Peter, I—“

“I’m not done yet, Y/N, please. I know it was stupid and I am so sorry that I wasn’t... that I wasn’t strong enough to resist. I shouldn’t have used my powers to take advantage of you. That was a scummy thing to do. I’m sorry.”

His eyes stayed firmly on the floor. You took a deep, deep breath, feeling it fill your lungs before you let it go slowly. 

“I accept your apology.” The words felt right in your mouth, and it felt good to say it. “Why don’t you sit down? I think we have a lot to talk about. I know I have some things to apologize for, too...” 

His head snapped up and he met your eye, believing for half a moment it was another cruel jab at his expense. But when he saw the sincerity in your face, he relaxed. 

Yeah, you did have a lot to apologize for, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Remind me never again to write a conflict based on dealing with ethical questions again my head hurts and I didn’t do it justice because I’m not a philosopher lmao  
> 3\. I stand by the headcanon that MJ is aromantic  
> 4\. I like making lists


	9. before you get burned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I refuse to acknowledge the obsolescence of Stark Tower. Sue me. 
> 
> Also, convenient and coincidental timing of plot points is going to be convenient and coincidental. Tack that on to the lawsuit, why dontcha?
> 
> Full discloser: I go to college in Chicago so I’m just kinda copy-pasting my experiences from my urban campus onto a hypothetical one in NYC. Is it totally accurate? Probably not. Do I care enough? Nah fam. Is my roommate, a long islander, going to kill me for bastardizing her city? Once she’s out of quarantine, yeah.

It wasn’t that often that Mr. Stark had Peter report in-person at the lab in Stark Tower—Tony knew that being a college student first and a superhero second already ate up enough of the poor kid’s time. So, he only called him in when he really needed his input on something. 

He also had a hunch that Peter needed his input on... something. 

When Happy picked him up outside of his dorm building, he reported back that the kid was _crying_. Tony had gone over his medical records himself, pored over them two, three times. His injuries were pretty standard for his profession, and Tony had never seen him cry before, so he could surmise that the cause wasn’t physical pain. 

That worried him. Hell, he’d even pushed for an extra brain scan, just in case something might’ve been missed the first time. He and the team were still discovering new effects of the spider venom and dangerous ones were very much a possibility. But his vitals returned normal, for the most part. He was fit as ever physically, but Tony could tell something was up. Could it be stress? Maybe he should take him out of some of those pettier missions, say they’d been cancelled or something. He made a mental note to ask the next time he saw Peter. 

Because, believe it or not, he worried. 

Which brought them to today. Tony had texted late last night—Friday night—to have Peter come meet him at the tower Saturday morning. Tony’s coffee had long gone cold in its mug on his workbench as he waited for the college student to arrive. He’d made some excuse about new tech to test out, or something, hoping that his true intents and purposes would stay concealed. 

“Hey, kid, what’s up?” Tony stayed where he was, back to the door and his hands stayed on his tools, engaged with his current prototype. 

“Not much, Mr. Stark. What are we working on today?”

Tony turned over his shoulder to have a look at him. Well, he certainly seemed different than the last time he’d seen him. Much happier, to say the least. He didn’t have the same look of existential dread on his face, coupling with some good, old-fashioned teenaged angst. Although, to be fair, Peter wasn’t a teenager anymore. Even if he hadn’t totally grown out of his slight baby face yet. 

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. He’d been lost in thought. No matter. 

“Lots to do, Parker.” He clapped his hands together and winced. Ouch. That was awkward. How did parents do this? 

“Now, I’m not the best with this whole, ah, emotional vulnerability thing—is anybody?”

“What?” Peter scoffed. He had no idea what Mr. Stark was getting at. What did this have to do with new tech? He craned his neck to get a look at what was on the workbench, just to see, but it wasn’t necessarily anything interesting. Just scrap metal, from the looks of it, waiting to be cleaned up. 

“What I’m trying to say is, Peter, that we need to talk. Heart-to-heart.” 

Peter suddenly realized the tech excuse was all a ruse. He felt his stomach drop and panic set in. This wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he wanted to be discussing in depth with his pseudo-boss. It was still quite raw, after all. 

Was he trying to ask about Y/N? There was no way Mr. Stark could’ve known about all that. He hadn’t told anybody. Well, anybody but Ned and that didn’t even count because it was over the phone and he had bad service so every other word came out all distorted. 

“What do you want to talk about?” Peter stood ramrod straight, his sheer discomfort evident on his face. 

“Well, we can start about what happened the other day when we took you in. You called me from someone stranger’s phone—a total security breach, I might add...” 

“It wasn’t a stranger’s phone!” Peter snapped.

Tony’s eyes narrowed, honing on his target like a predator on its prey. 

“Then whose was it?” He asked, innocently enough. 

“Uh,” Peter hesitated. “This girl who lives in my dorm.”

Bingo. So it was a girl. 

“That was awfully nice of her, to lend you her phone.” 

“Yeah.” Peter agreed. Mr. Stark was getting him to play game of cat and mouse to find out what he wanted. Or maybe, Peter thought wryly, it called be more accurately called spider and fly. But this time, Peter knew he wasn’t the spider. He certainly felt trapped. 

“So... are you two, together?”

“No!” Peter pressed his lips together. “It’s complicated.”

“I’m assuming you told her about your identity.” 

Peter looked up and it was as it Tony Stark were the originator of the phrase “I’m Not Mad, I’m Just Disappointed.”

“Yeah, she found out that night. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Peter felt the need to defend his actions. 

“I’m assuming, then, that you know about the dangers of trying to date for someone... in your position.”

“W-well, yeah there’s always danger. That’s a given.” 

Tony snorted. An understatement. 

“Have you two—Spiderman and her, that is— ever been seen in public together?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Explain.”

“Oh, well, I saved her life this one time. She was crossing the street at the crosswalk, totally legally, and this driver didn’t stop at the red light so I sorta swung in there and got her out of there. And then—“

“There’s more?”

“Well, yeah, I would stop by the roof of her dorm sometimes when she was sitting there. Then when it started getting super cold I would just go through her window, but that’s not technically in public.”

“Peter.” 

“What?”

“Do you know how many eyes there are on that campus? All those security cameras, they’re not protected. The footage from those can be accessed anywhere. If anybody wanted to know what Spiderman has been up to, they could find that. Find her.”

“Shit.” Peter cursed under his breath.

“I’m not gonna ask how you could be so stupid, because that’s not conducive to anything, but Peter, how the hell could you be so stupid? You made her a target.” 

“A t-target?” Peter blanched. The thought hadn’t really occurred to him, but he felt like a monster for being so negligent. 

“I hadn’t really looped you in on this—not yet, anyway, I didn’t want to worry you, but we have intel on some, ah, people... looking to do anything they can to mess with us. We already took proper precautions with May and everything, so you don’t gotta worry about her, but we can’t protect what we don’t know we have to protect. How long has this been going on with the two of you?” 

“Since October?” 

“Jesus Christ.” 

Tony stalked to the other side of his lab in a few short strides, muttering as he tapped and manipulated the holographic screens, trying to delegate and organize the appropriate actions to take. 

“Where is she now?” He asked, fingers dancing through the air. Tony had hoped she was staying on campus. That would make his job a hell of a lot easier. All the security there was well acquainted him already. For Peter. 

“Oh, she went to the Met today for an assignment.” Peter told him helpfully. 

“Shit. Ah, well, I’m sure that’s fine.”

Tony was not sure at all that that was fine.  
Peter didn’t think that Tony sounded very convincing. 

—

That morning, you left your dorm bright and early to take the subway to the Met on 5th Avenue. You were only heading uptown because your art history professor made it a requirement to see some artworks in person in order to write about them. You didn’t mind much; after all, it wasn’t like she was sending you all the way up to the Met Cloisters, which was practically all the way out in Yonkers. The Upper East Side wasn’t that far from campus, comparatively, and the trip was pleasant. 

You scanned your card and pushed through the turnstiles when you thought you heard someone calling your name over your shoulder. You pulled out your headphones to see Peter trailing after you. 

“Hey, Y/N, funny seeing you here.”

He smiled brightly, a weight having been lifted off his shoulders after coming clean the night before. You couldn’t deny that your heart skipped a beat when you saw him, and firmly refused to calm back down now that you were standing so close. 

“Hey yourself!” You grinned. “Where are you headed?”

“Uh, midtown.” He said. He leaned close to you and lowered his voice. “Mr. Stark wanted to see me.”

You could’ve connected the dots easily enough. Honestly, Peter was hardly subtle about the finer points of his double life, and it was just dumb luck his identity was still secret. At least, that was plainly obvious to you once you found out. 

“What about you?” He asked. 

The train approached the station, the stale underground air whooshing past your head. People crowded close to the edge of the platform before the train had slowed, guessing where the doors might be when they stopped. Peter’s hand found the small of your back and he guided you into the train car before him. You blushed. 

“I’m headed to the Met.” You told him, gripping tightly to the handrail overhead. The car was packed and you were pressed chest-to-chest. At the next stop, the car came to a screeching halt and the momentum threw your body closer into his. 

“Sorry!” Your ears turned red and you peeled yourself away, trying to establish more space between you. However, your two bodies continued to gravitate towards each other of their own accord, from the rocking and swaying of the car, you were sure. 

The next time the train had come to a stop, some people got off and you were able to snag two seats. Thankful to no longer have to reach up above your head to stay upright, you sank into the chair, Peter right next to you. He got off a number of stops before you, saying his goodbyes and making you promise to get dinner together that evening when you were both back on campus. 

When you emerged from the subway and onto the city streets above, you were greeted with a sharp blast of cold air. You had gotten off a stop of two earlier than you had to, just to enjoy the walk. There really wasn’t anything you liked more than walking the city in the winter. There was a certain beauty to it, you always thought, to see the scraggly arms of the trees in Central Park waving against a cool grey sky. 

You made it to the Met soon enough, your cheeks pink from the cold. Locating the paintings your professor had sent you to see was easy as pie and even after spending time in those galleries, you had a little extra before you needed to get back to campus. 

You swung by the Egyptian galleries on the first floor before you left. It was right near the main entrance and exit, after all. The galleries were too cool-looking to resist, and you clearly weren’t the only one that thought so. They were swarming with tourists and art and archaeology aficionados alike, and you had to push your way past some throngs of people just to see anything. 

You were admiring the graffiti on the Temple of Dendur when you felt someone press up against your side. You startled, but thought nothing of it, as it was a small space that was crammed full of tourists. Side stepping and mumbling an apology, you frowned when it happened again, more insistently. You pulled your eyes away from the limestone carvings to see an absurdly tall man peering back down at you over a pair of glossy sunglasses, crowding into your personal space. 

“Excuse me.” You tried to step away, but he swiftly moved to block your way out of the temple. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” His voice was gruff and you felt sharp pressure against your ribs. Your eyes dropped down and you could see that some sort of weapon that he held against you. 

Oh, shit. 

“You’re going to come with me. Calmly now, let’s go. We’re not going to make a scene, or you’ll regret it.” 

The barrel of the gun pressing hard into your side, he threw his arm around you and steered you out of the temple. You thought your knees might give out, but you managed to keep even step, side by side with the strange man. As he escorted you down the steps towards 5th Avenue, a car was waiting. He opened the door for you. 

“If you don’t mind.” 

You slid into the back seat, swallowing hard on a dry throat as he followed and closed the door. The driver pulled away from the curb and joined traffic and a choked sob escaped your throat. Something sharp bit into your thigh and you saw him slip a syringe into his pocket. That was the last thing you saw before you were embraced by dark nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone reading along and leaving comments! I’m so glad this dumb little passion project is bringing a little bit of joy during these rough times! <3


	10. the liability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hi. Hope you brought a flashlight because things are about to get a bit dark. But you were expecting that, right?

When you woke up, all seemed well. For a moment, you thought you were back in your bed in your dorm and it had all been a dream. It wasn’t until you realized that, no, you weren’t in your cozy bed, but rather tied to a chair, your wrists firmly tied to its arm rests and your ankles to its legs. You pulled helplessly at the restraints but it was no use. Your head lolled forward and holy hell did your neck hurt. 

It wasn’t until you opened your eyes that you truly experienced fear for the first time, its cold fingers gripping your heart like a weed strangling a plant. You were in some dark space and you couldn’t see anything, though from all angles the darkness was pressing down on you. Your chest tightened and you struggled to breathe, taking note of your surroundings with frenzied eyes. Your fists clenched and unclenched as you fought to calm yourself down, keep your thoughts under control. 

It seemed bad now, but everything would be alright, right? It had to be. 

_It had to be_.

—

Around noon, Peter texted you to confirm plans for dinner. You’d mentioned it that morning and he thought a follow-up text was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. 

But really, all he wanted was confirmation that you were okay. A reply from you would calm the anxiety pricking beneath his skin, spurred on by Tony’s words. Accompanying the pinpricks was an equally uncomfortable sense of guilt tearing up his gut. He really should’ve been more careful when he came to visit you. How could he have been so stupid to recklessly put you in danger like that? He was desperate to hear from you, to know that you were safe. 

When you didn’t even open the message, his fears mounted, ruminating on all the horrible things that could be happening to you, each and every one of them his fault. 

It was late in the afternoon—as it turned out, Mr. Stark did also have some actual tech for him to work with and occupy his time—and the setting sun cast a hot orange glow over the city. Peter raced back to campus, scaling buildings and leaping through the air to do so. Traveling across the city as Spiderman served two purposes. One, it was a thousand percent faster and two, he was filled to the brim with nervous energy and needed some way to get it out of his system. Swinging between buildings was the perfect way to do that. He couldn’t worry too much either while he was at it, calculating his momentum and the proper timing of his web shooting and releasing took all his concentration so he didn’t go splat 1000 feet below. 

When he arrived at your door, dressed like a civilian, of course, he was out of breath. He knocked sharply on your door, leaning against the door jamb while he waited for a reply. Peter felt like he was going to puke. He knocked again for good measure before jimmying the lock open with a paper clip. He’d taught himself how when he accidentally locked himself out time and time again during his freshman year. Now more than ever was he thankful that he did. The suspense was killing him. 

He pushed the door open to find that your room was empty. Quickly closing it behind him, Peter stepped in the room so he wouldn’t be seen breaking and entering from the hallway. He texted MJ, he texted the RA, he texted anyone and everyone he could think of to ask if they’d seen you.

The lights were off. He took a shaky breath and looked around. Your backpack was on the floor near the door, tossed carelessly to the side when you walked in. On the wall across from the door, you had taped up a dozen Polaroid photos of you and your friends. Peter admired them for a moment, finding your smile. He smiled back at your image, his heart heavy. 

And then he called Tony. 

—

Your perception of passing time was quite frankly awful, but over the next few hours or so you had composed a mental list of everything you knew, hoping it would be helpful to plot your escape. Because you had a could-be-a-date-if-we-both-confess-our-feelings-tonight date with Peter tonight and you sure as hell weren’t going to miss it. 

1\. You were alone in some sort of small, dark room, which had a concrete floor. You could tell from the texture under your feet, which meant that:  
2\. They had taken your shoes and socks. And your jacket, if the chill you felt up your arms was any indication that it was missing. Curious...  
3\. The chair you were in had some seriously fancy decorations. Underneath your fingers you could feel ridges and whirls carved into the smooth wood. Must’ve been some fancy fucking chair. Even if it was mildly uncomfortable.  
4\. You didn’t appear to be harmed in any way, at least save for the vague throbbing on your leg where the lackey had stuck you with the syringe. That was good, at least. Right? 

You heard the creak of door hinges behind you and your head snapped up. Light filled the room and you squeezed your eyes shut, the sudden brightness inducing an instant headache. 

“So, you’re Spiderman’s little plaything, huh?” A voice mused, crossing from behind you to stand in front of your chair. 

A hand caressed your face, but you refused to open your eyes. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

“Look at me when I talk to you.”

The hand dropped to your throat, fingers spanning from ear to ear easily. Your eyes snapped open, but he didn’t squeeze. It was just a warning. Your head swam, like you were in a dream. All in all, you weren’t really sure what was going on. Nothing felt real.

You did not recognize the man standing in front of you—he wasn’t the one that held a gun to you in the Met nor was he the driver of the car that took you away—but you instantly hated the look of him. He towered over you and you could smell a thick, acrid stench wafting from him. His sharp, pointed features were contorted in a frown. If you’d looked up “generic baddie” in a visual image dictionary, his portrait would show up. 

That didn’t ease your fears any, though, as he just stood there staring right through you. You squirmed under his gaze, though you couldn’t go far. 

“What do you want from me?” Your voice was hoarse. Still, he continued his stare, unbroken. He turned away, walking out of your line of sight, though you could tell he didn’t go far. You heard him rummage through some things and every thud of an object hitting the table made you flinch. 

“From you in particular?” His voice was soft and quiet, like the eerily soothing calm in the eye of a hurricane. He stepped back into your line of sight and your eyes followed him as he continued, pacing the floor in front of you. 

“I want nothing. From your lover boy, on the other hand...” 

You didn’t like the look in his eye one bit. He grinned to himself, like he had a particularly amusing thought. 

“I want to know who Spiderman is. Under the mask.”

“I-I don’t know that.” 

“Bullshit.” His eyebrow quirked like he knew he caught you in a lie. He reached for the knife at his belt, rolling it between his fingers like he relished the feel of it in his hands. 

“No!” You coughed, throat suddenly hoarse. “I really don’t know.”

Sliding the knife back into its sheath, he quickly spun to strike you with his fist, the ring on his pinky finger colliding with your mouth and splitting your lip. The force of it pushed you back in the chair and you yelped. 

“Stop lying to me!” He roared. The eye of the hurricane had passed and you were caught back in the throes of the storm. 

“I’m not, I’m not!” You plead, slippery blood flowing from your bottom lip and coating your tongue. You gagged and nearly wretched. From the corner of your eye, you could see him raise his arm to do it again. 

“Wait! Please! I-I-I—“ As he lowered his hand you scrambled to come up with a lie. 

“I’ve seen him with the mask off, b-b-but he wouldn’t tell me his name! I don’t know who he is, I swear! I think I could recognize him from a picture but I don’t know who he is.”

The man stood back, thinking pensively. He smiled, and you saw his front tooth was chipped and yellow. 

“Promise?”


	11. equally liable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same as before, grab a flashlight it’s kinda dark.

“Promise?”

“I-I’ll do my best.” Your breath hitched. You couldn’t believe he bought your lie. You also had no idea how he was going to pull a photo lineup off. There had to be thousands upon thousands of young adult men in New York that could conceivably be Spiderman. But there was only one Peter Parker. The blood on your lip from earlier had dried to an itchy crust and you picked at it with your teeth, causing it to sting and ooze. 

“Let’s get one with it, then.” He said. 

Your skin prickled as you watched the man in front of you pull the knife from his belt again, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. With a lascivious grin, knelt in front of you. Frozen in fear, you watched as he drew the tip of his knife to your legs, slicing it downward in one fluid motion to cut the ropes that bound your ankles. 

The instant he did, you kicked your legs wildly, hoping to get him away from you. Unfortunately, you were still bound to the chair by your wrists, so he was able to overpower you quickly. He caught your left ankle and wrenched your foot forward, taking his knife once more and repeating the same slicing motion, only this time down the sole of your foot, the tip of the knife carving a deep chasm from the ball of your foot all the way down to your heel. You howled in pain, your legs falling limp. 

“Do you need me to do the other one too? Or will you be good?” 

You could only sob in reply. The path the knife took burned across the sole of your foot like it rested on hot coals. Writhing in your chair, your fingers gripped the armrests so tightly your knuckles seized up. You fought to catch your breath, the pain overwhelming, shooting up your leg and demanding to be felt. 

“That’s what I thought.” He nodded to himself, straightening up. Leaning over you, he roughly grabbed a fistful of your shirt, pulling it up so he could wipe the blade of his knife clean. You looked down, horrified at the at the streak of deep red soaking into the white fabric over your stomach. Satisfied with his now-clean knife, he used it to cut the ropes around your wrists, first your left and then your right. 

After the ropes fell, you stayed right where you were, once again frozen in place, your eyes glued to the knife. He smiled, tucking it once again into his sheath. Looking down at your foot and eyeing the puddle of blood underneath it, he tsked. 

“I’d tell you to stay right here, but, clearly, you’re not going anywhere. I’ll be back soon.” 

After your captor left, you curled up in the chair and cried, face contorting with pain. Deep shuddering sobs shook your chest as you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

You didn’t know how much time passed, but soon the ache in your back from sitting awkwardly in the chair was nearly unbearable. Holding your left foot out to the side, you gingerly lowered yourself to the ground, using the armrests of the chair to steady yourself. You stretched your legs out in front of you, wincing as the motion pulled at the cut on your foot. 

Still, it felt good to stretch your legs. Pushing the chair back, you let yourself sprawl on the floor, relishing in the feeling of unfolding your spine and letting your back straighten. You laid there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. As you did, the realization of the severity of your situation hit you and tears welled in your eyes once more, but they had nothing to do with pain. 

Was it too much to hope for a rescue? Would Peter even know you were missing, or would he assume that when you stood him up for dinner that night, it was payback for that study session so long ago? You hoped not. Surely, with your foot so badly damaged, you wouldn’t be escaping on your own any time soon. Just the thought of bearing weight on the torn flesh made you hiss. 

—

Right after hanging up with Mr. Stark, Peter immediately retraced his steps from campus back to midtown. As he made his way back uptown, swinging from building to building, he swore to himself he would never do such a thing again. The muscles in his chest screamed from the exertion, but he couldn’t stop. Not if your life depended on it. 

The sun had long since set by the time he gracefully flipped through the air and landed on the balcony of Stark Tower, hundreds of stories up in the air. Mr. Stark was there to greet him, his lips pressed in a firm line. He, too, was feeling a certain amount of guilt over the whole situation. 

“Check this out. We got footage from the Met. Is that your girl?” 

Peter‘s eyes widened in horror as he watched you be marched away by a tall, angry-looking man with his arm around you. He focused on your face, trying to find signs or pain or fear, but the quality of the video was such that it was mostly blurry. 

“How long ago was this?” His voice cracked. 

“This morning.” Tony glanced at the time. “8 or 9 hours ago.” 

He rested his hand on Peter’s shoulder, a small gesture of comfort. He withdrew his hand quickly, clapping it against the desk and activating the screen system around the two men. The video enlarged and other browser windows appeared showing different angles and racing lines of code. Peter watched as you got in a car, seemingly of your own volition, and it sped away. 

“We’re trying to run a match for the license plate, but it’s a rental from Jersey and their laws are bullshit. We won’t have access to the records to see who’s renting it for another 48 hours.” The irritation was audible in Tony’s voice. 

“We’re working on tracking data from her cell phone. That should be done—ah!” A beep interrupted him and he was delighted. He squinted at one of the blocks of code. 

“Okay, I’ve got a hit on her cell phone. We’ve got it triangulated to a neighborhood on Long Island. Have a look.” Tony produced up a map, zooming it on to the correct location with a flick of his wrist. Peter frowned, scanning the rows of neat, tidy houses. 

“Where is she?”

“We can’t get an exact location, but she’s somewhere around here, give it take 50 meters.” He drew a circle with his finger around one of the blocks. Peter nodded sharply. 

“Alright, I’m going.” He turned on his heel and started making his way to the door. 

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down there, Underoos.” Tony waved his hand and the map disappeared. He chased after the college student, reaching a hand to catch his shoulder. 

“We don’t know who they are, what they want, and, most importantly, what they’re capable of. For all we know you could be walking into an ambush. You need to stay here until we know more.” 

Peter jerked his shoulder away. He was in no mood to argue. 

“Not this time, Mr. Stark.” 

—

He returned far faster than you would’ve liked, maybe only fifteen minutes or so. You were still lying on the floor, but when you heard him at the door you jerked up to a seated position. He walked in, his impatience clear from the way he huffed when he saw you on the ground. 

“Alright, up with you.” 

Grabbing your shoulders, he forced you to stand so he could knot a length of rope and shove it between your teeth, tying the ends around the back of your head so you couldn’t move. You gagged on the fabric and loathed the icky feeling of it on your tongue. As he pulled you to your feet, you whimpered at the motion aggravating the cut in your foot. You struggled to balance on your right food, your calf cramping painfully, as he forced your arms behind your back, binding them together at the wrists with another bit of rope. 

He bent down to grab your hips and throw you over his shoulder. Carrying you out of the little room, he turned to climb a set of stairs and you craned your neck to get a good look at your surroundings. When he reached the top of the stairs, you were shocked to see that you were in a regular old house. He had been holding you in a storage room in an unfinished basement. 

Your mind feasted on the new information and you scrambled to find dots to connect. If you were in a house, then you probably weren’t in the middle of nowhere. Did this man have neighbors? You assumed so, as that would explain why you were gagged. You were considering new methods to escape when you were unceremoniously dumped into a chair. Your foot slammed against the carpet and you screeched in pain, thought it was muffled by the gag. The rough fibers grated against the raw fresh and poked themselves into the just-starting-to-heal cut and tears sprung to your eyes. 

The man had carried you to the lavish dining room, a thick carpet on the floor and a glossy hardwood table taking up most of the space. It was surrounded by a set of eleven fancy chairs. One seemed to be missing, though you presumed that it was just down in the basement. Velvet curtains covered the window on the far wall. You wondered what it looked out on. A quaint neighborhood street? Were there children riding by on bikes? 

You watched as he slammed a thick stack of 8 x 11 sheets down onto the table in front of you, about as thick as a phone book. You assumed they were photographs, and they were face down. He took four off the top and lined them in a row in front of you. You shot him a look that said “are you fucking kidding me?” This was going to take forever. 

“Go ahead and nod if you see him when I flip them over.” 

You exhaled sharply through your nose. He flipped the first photo over and you saw Peter’s face smiling back at you. The blood drained out of your face. There was no fucking way. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be. He flipped the second over, a little too quickly, and it was identical to the first, one of Peter’s school photos. He was wearing a collared shirt under a sweater and he was smiling at the camera like he didn’t have a care in the world. 

You could’ve passed out. 

The third and fourth photos, when he flipped them, were also the same. Four identical photos of Peter stared back at you, and your hands shook. Mind racing, you turned to look at him and he grinned. 

“Is that him?” He asked, delighted at his little trick. 

“Nah, I’m way more handsome than that guy.” Came an all-too-familiar voice. 

The curtains flung open and, faster than the blink of an eye, flashes of white crossed your vision, the force of the web shooters throwing the man back against the wall and trapping him there. You watched as Spiderman climbed through the window and shot another web at him for good measure, this one landing across his face and silencing him. He leapt onto the table, trampling the stack of photos underfoot. 

“Did you miss me?” He asked, reaching behind your head to untie the gag. 

“God, yes.” You told him, voice hoarse and mouth dry as sand. You could see his jaw moving under the mask, indicating a smile. 

“Let’s get out of here.” Spiderman pulled the chair back and helped you to your feet. He noticed how you only stood on one foot and the pitch of his voice raised an octave, his worry evidence in his speech. 

“Oh my God, Y/N! Are you okay?” He hooked an arm behind your knees and picked you up bridal-style. 

“I will be.” You told him, trying to assuage his fears. “What about—“ 

“Mr. Stark is doing the cleanup. I’m just here to extract the hostage.” He raced back out the window with you in his arms, out to the street where Happy was idling in a sleek black car. As soon as you both got in the car and the door closed, he slammed on the gas and the car lurched forward. 

“Hi there.” Happy said tersely before punching his finger upward so that the divider between the driver and the passengers closed to give you and Peter some privacy. 

“Happy’s not a huge conversationalist.” Peter explained, pulling his mask off and tossing it aside. “But he’ll take us back to Stark Tower faster than I could. Mr. Stark wants you to get checked out by his doctors. Make sure you’re okay and everything.”

You nodded, twisting in your seat and leaning forward so he could get the ropes off of your wrists. You crossed your legs, trying to keep your injured foot as still as possible. Peter’s eyes raced over you, followed by his hands, checking for injuries. He cupped your face and ran his thumb gently over your split lip. You were sure it looked worse than it felt, but the heartbroken look in his eyes was a punch to the gut. 

This was all his fault. His careless stupidity had put you in danger and now you were hurt and it was all because of him. 

“I’m okay, Peter, I promise.” You told him, but the guilt still chewed him up inside. 

His eyes fell, but when they wandered over the bloodstains on your shirt, panic bubbled up inside him again. 

“Are you okay?” He knew abdominal injuries could be serious, very serious, and the thought of you bleeding out in the car on the way to the tower filled his mind and he couldn’t shake it. 

“Yeah, yeah!” You insisted. “It’s not mine! I mean, it is mine, but it’s not from—he used my shirt to clean his knife. I’m okay, I promise.” You grabbed your shirt and pulled it up a few inches so he could see for himself there was no hideous gaping wound in your stomach. 

“The blood is from my foot, he used the knife on me after I kicked him.”

“You kicked him?” All things considered, Peter wasn’t surprised that you fought back. The thought made him beam. 

“Uh, yeah.” You said. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He offered you a small, tired smile and you reached out to grab his hand, squeezing it as a sign of reassurance. 

—

Back at the tower, an army of doctors swarmed you like pigeons fighting over a crumb. Your dirty clothes were replaced with a hospital gown, an IV line with fluids hooked up to your arm. You were separated from Peter while they ran tests, sending you through X-rays and CAT scans, covering the whole nine yards. They were most concerned with the gash on your foot and you didn’t blame them. It still hurt like hell.

When they finally put you in a bed, you could’ve groaned from the sheer joy of sitting on something comfortable for once. They elevated your foot in a sling hanging from the ceiling, wadded with bandages and padding. At some point, painkillers were introduced into your IV so you were feeling comfortably woozy, delighting in the feeling of air caressing your skin. Yeah, it was some pretty strong stuff. 

“Y/N, nice to meet ya.” Tony Stark walked in the room and, like he always did, commanded attention with his presence.

You raised an eyebrow. Tony looked a bit shorter than he did on TV. 

“Nice to meet you too.” You weren’t quite sure what to say. “Thanks for being a superhero...?” Your voice lifted at the end of the statement and it came out more like a question. 

“I’m not the one you should be thanking.” He said, stepping to the side and letting Peter follow him into the room. While you were going through testing, Mr. Stark has forced him to eat and take a shower. The poor guy was practically vibrating with anxiety about your condition, and Tony could hear his stomach growling from clear across the room, so forcing him to take care of himself was the only logical step. 

“Peter!” Your eyes lit up when you saw him and for Tony the last piece of the puzzle finally fell into place. Tony could plainly see how bad you two kids had it for each other. He quirked a smile, remembering what it was like to be so young and in love. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Peter approached your bedside, taking your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“So much better now.” You told him, and he smiled. 

“But,” you hesitated, one nagging worry still weighing on your mind. You were concerned about Peter’s safety more than your own, if you were being honest with yourself. “That man obviously knows your identity. He was just trying to mess with me or something. I just don’t understand why any of this happened. I mean, I’m here now, and I’m safe, but what’s to say there couldn’t be repercussions in the future?” 

Tony threw Peter a look that said “we’ll talk about this later.” After you’d finished voicing your concerns, he nodded thoughtfully. 

“That’s our job to find out. We’ll take care of it. You don’t need to worry yourself any more, okay?” 

“Okay.” You said, but you weren’t convinced. 

“Good job today, kid.” Tony said, as much to Peter as to you. 

“C’mon Mr. Stark, I’m not a kid anymore! I’m twenty!” He protested. 

“Hey, you’ll always be a kid in my eyes. Alright, take care, Y/N, I’ll be back in a while. Gotta make sure the NYPD got my gift.” He strode out of the room, leaving you and Peter alone.


	12. work hard, play hardest

Due to the circumstances of your kidnapping, the administration exempted you from final exams. It was one of their policies, actually, that students “whose life, liberty, or property was negatively involved and/or affected by extraterrestrial, interterrestrial, or otherwise nefarious actors requiring the intervention of any or all members of the Avengers” be exempted from academic requirements in the aftermath of incidents. They really had to cover their ass after facing lawsuits after the Battle of New York from wealthy parents of students who were affected. 

Your experience really ticked all those boxes. You were on crutches for a week or two to let the sole of your foot heal up, thick bandages wrapping from toe to ankle. Really, you didn’t mind that much because Peter took really good care of you, helping out in any way he could. He carried your backpack for you, helped with your tray at the dining hall, and was generally indispensable. In the week following your kidnapping, the two of you became inseparable. 

Unfortunately, Peter, by virtue of his secret identity, wasn’t included under the school’s exemption policy, so he still had exams weighing on his shoulders. You took it upon yourself to personally help him study. It was a fair trade-off, you thought, in a way. In a “you save my life, I save your grade” kind of way. 

Luckily, he was already naturally brilliant in all the classes he was taking pertaining to his two majors—physics and bioengineering. He really didn’t need your help there. However, he was also taking a poli sci class for elective credit. 

“Okay, Peter, you’ve got this.” You told him. You were sitting on the floor of his dorm room, textbooks and papers splayed all around you. You were sitting with one leg out to the side, elevated on a pillow. You picked a term on the study guide at random. 

“Let’s go through the theory behind salami tactics.”

Peter grinned. 

“Oh, yeah yeah yeah, so like it’s when you’re in a bodega and they’ve got their big menu of sandwiches—speaking of which, there’s a great one out in Queens I’ll have to take you there sometime—and you always see how they’ve got the salami they use in the sandwiches like, hanging from the ceiling for storage. That’s a tactic—“

“I don’t know shit about poli sci, but I know what you just told me wasn’t right. 

You rolled your eyes, thumbing through the textbook until you found a definition. You read it off to him. It was a term for the political strategy of conquer something piecemeal. 

“Does that make sense?” 

“If you say so. What else is on that study guide? I think we should take a break soon.” Peter swung his spiral-bound notebook shut and tossed it to the side. You rolled your eyes. You had been at it for about ten minutes, and no more. 

“Promise me something, Peter?” You said as he crawled across the floor to sit right in front of you.

“Anything.” He said, looping his arms over your hips so he could pull you into his lap. You rolled your eyes, wrapping your legs around his waist and draping your arms over his shoulders. 

“If you fail this exam, don’t fucking blame me.” 

“I promise I won’t.” He said, tilting his head forward so he could kiss your neck. You laughed, the sound getting caught in your throat as he gently bit down under your ear. 

“D’you like that?” He whispered against your skin. 

“Yeah,” your face reddened and you buried your face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent and feeling your body relax. 

Your phone—a new one, courtesy of Tony, because your old one had been compromised, or something—buzzed and you reached over him to grab it and take a look at the new messages. 

“Flash’s frat is throwing a party right after finals ends next Friday.” You reported back to Peter, shaking him the text that was your entrance ticket. “Wanna be my date?”

He raised an eyebrow, but it wasn’t like he had the power to say no to you. 

“Of course.” 

—

The week passed by in a blur and soon enough it was Friday night. You were finally off of crutches, though still walking gingerly and with assistance from Peter. The two of you slowly, leisurely walked the couple blocks to the frat house. You ducked the fence, showed the text to get in, and drank cheap booze out of a cheap cup, same as last time. 

Only this time, you had a different agenda than solely “get drunk.” 

Oh, of course you were going to get drunk as well. That was a given. You and Peter stayed down in the common area only as long as was strictly necessary to build a decent, giggly buzz before ditching and fulfilling your true nefarious purpose. 

“C’mon,” you gestured towards the stairway up to the attic. “I don’t know about you, but I want a do-over of that one night.” 

The smile he shot in your direction was positively delicious. Peter gave you a piggyback ride up the stairwell, as your foot was still sore if you tried to walk too much or too quickly, and he was wildly impatient. You marveled at his strength, letting your hands wander the muscles of his chest and his shoulders in appreciation. You made it up to the attic without crossing paths with anyone, to your delight. 

Peter set you down gently and you opened the door to push him inside; the moment it was closed he had you pushed up against it, trapped between his arms. You were not used to the raw animalistic look in his eye, but even then you were sure you would never get sick of it. You had a firm grip on the front of his pants, thumb hooked through a belt loop. His fingers were itching to grab at your clothes and rip them off of you. 

“Wait!” He said, an idea springing on him. Though the door didn’t have a lock, he used his web shooters to jam the door handle so it couldn’t be opened. 

There were some serious perks to dating a superhero. He picked you up like you were nothing, hands sliding up the back of your thighs as you captured his lips in another searing kiss. You playfully wiggled your hips against him and he groaned into your ear, sinking his teeth into your neck as a warning. 

“I’m not going to ask why you wore the web shooters to a party.” You giggled before kissing him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. 

“They really come in handy.” He nuzzled his nose over the skin he had just bitten, lavishing a soft kiss to the skin under your jaw. 

“Is that so?” 

“Wanna see?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, the plot ends here. Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed this wild ride! 
> 
> The next chapter is just smut and the webs are a secret tool that will help us later :)


	13. bonus, bitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter had no relevance to the plot. ;) enjoy 
> 
> Warning: explicit (but you knew that already)

“Wanna see?”

The low rasp of his voice made you weak in the knees—you were glad he was holding you—and the fluttering in your stomach was almost too much to bear. 

“A private demonstration from Spiderman himself? Sign me up.” You told him, too breathless for your attempt at humor to come across as intended. 

Still carrying you in his arms, he took a few halting steps forward until you felt your back press against the very door he had just webbed shut. He first took the opportunity to squeeze your ass playfully, before letting you slip out of his arms and setting you gently back on your feet. Peter took half a step back, eyes scanning over you thoughtfully. You watched as he lingered on your breasts, your hips. His hands fisted in the fabric of your shirt and he kissed you, his tongue hot and insistent. 

“Hands up.” He murmured into your mouth, and you obliged. He pulled your shirt up and off, crumpling it in his hands and tossing it somewhere behind him. He slid his palms over your skin, running them up your sides and down your shoulder blades. Your bra, now unhooked, got the same treatment as your shirt, soaring through the air and landing somewhere across the attic. Your skin bared, you shivered. It was chillier than you had anticipated, but the heat between you was more than enough to keep you warm. You kept your hands up, over your head. 

Peter’s hands were back on you, pressing against your shoulders until the door met your back, firm and unyielding behind you. 

“Up against the door? My, my—“ 

_thwip_. 

With that your wrists were pinned to the door behind you. You tugged lightly, testing the restraint, and were pleased to find that they held fast. You were trapped and totally at his mercy. The mere thought of it was exhilarating. Peter was on you in and instant, pressing his lithe, muscular body against yours and using his knee to nudge your legs apart. 

“Is that okay? Does it hurt you at all?” His concern was palpable, his hands tracing up your arms to gently probe the webbing. You wiggled your fingers and he interlaced his hands in yours. You stood there for a moment, sweetly holding hands. But you were getting impatient. 

“It’s perfect, Peter. But you seriously need to lose some clothes too. This feels unfair.”

He laughed, dropping his hands and letting them lightly poke your sides, tickling you. You stuck your tongue out at him and he took a half step back, raising his hands as if to proclaim his innocence. Peter pulled his shirt off by the back of the neck, discarding it as well. His fingers fumbled at his belt while you feasted your eyes on his muscled chest and arms, remembering that day not too long ago when you’d felt ashamed to be ogling. Now, that shame was hardly relevant because you knew he was all yours to devour. Or, perhaps, you were all his instead, if the gleam in his eye was any indication. 

“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He said, as if oblivious to the way you were staring at him. His eyes raked your body and his hands followed, kneading your sides, tracing the curve of your breast, finding a nipple and rolling it between his fingers, pinching. A low moan got caught in your throat and Peter smiled. 

“Thank you.” Your voice was soft. “You know, you’re not so bad too look at yourself.” 

Peter smiled, capturing your lips again in a tender kiss. The sweetness dissolved after a moment as he pressed his body to yours, the desire for contact and friction overwhelming. He licked his way into your mouth, sucking and biting on your lower lip. You tilted your head back, matching the growing desperation for more. You shifted your hips from side to side while he let one hand lazily trace down from your breasts to follow the curve of each rib before dipping to roam flat across your hip and stomach. Your breath caught in your chest and he wrapped himself around you, his other arm caressing your lower back, occasionally dipping to rest on the globe of your ass. 

Your heart sped up and you moaned into his mouth as his hand crept towards your inner thigh. This was all still quite new to him, and to you. Two bodies getting to know one another, getting better and better with each time as you both learned the intricacies of your partner. Peter was determined to give you everything and get to know you just as well as he knew himself. 

He probed the juncture between your thigh and your hip and you squirmed, the overwhelming need for him you making every touch prickle like a sunburn. His hand slipped down to caress your sex and you let your head loll forward, closing your eyes and letting everything fall away except the feeling of his skin on yours. Peter leaned against the wall, pressing kiss after kiss down your neck and to your shoulder, where he rested his chin.

Probing his fingers down towards your entrance, his palm pressed just the right spot. You bucked your hips into him, grinding down and seeking that delicious friction. Peter raised his head to kiss your lips, swallowing every moan and whimper he coaxed out of you. He increased the pressure, exploring every inch of your slick folds. 

“Please, please, please.” You whined as his thumb found your clit, rubbing tight, slow circles. He picked up the pace and you felt the pleasure building deep within your belly with each circle of his fingers around the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Love hearing those sounds you make.” He said, “but let’s hope no one else at the party can.” He smiled, baring his teeth. 

“Mmm.” You breathed, toes inching to spread your legs wider as one long finger entered you, slowly and torturously. Forming coherent thoughts was hard enough, let alone words. Your fists clenched and released above your head, scrabbling for a hold on something, anything, as your body gave itself over to pleasure. He drew his hand away and you whined at the loss, throwing your head back against the door. 

“Gotta taste you.” He explained, popping a finger in his mouth as he dropped to his knees.   
Seeing him down there in front of you, face shining in the moonlight, was so deliciously wonderful you savored the view, hoping to sear it in your memories forever. As you were standing, the angle was a bit awkward because of just how tall he was dvd while kneeling. To compromise, he pulled your legs over his shoulders, arms wrapping around your thighs and kneading the flesh under your ass as he supported you in his arms. Jesus Christ he was strong. 

He didn’t hesitate to devour you, licking a stripe up your center before latching on to your clit and sucking. You squeezed your thighs together around his head in response, your muscles tensing and your toes curling. 

“Thanks, baby, my ears were cold.” He teased, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. The flow of air over the sensitive flesh made your abs contract. Your hands were clenched into fists high above your head, your nails digging into your palm. 

“Fuck, don’t stop.” You whined. “Don’t stop.” 

The heat in your belly exploded, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Your back arched and you hissed in a breath, riding the wave as far as it would take you. Chest heaving, you looked down to see Peter watching you intently, pupils blown wide and lips slick with your essence. He held you there, sucking a hickey into the soft skin of your inner thigh while you came down from your high. Head clouded with bliss, you could only smile to yourself as he gently set you down. You were thankful to be held up by your wrists, otherwise you might’ve collapsed in a puddle on the floor. 

Straightening, his hands found your hips and he lifted you off the ground again. You could taste yourself on his lips as kissed you, moaning into the softness of his tongue. His hands kneaded your ass and you could feel him against your thigh, hot and insistent. Peter couldn’t recall a time he had ever been so hard in his life, and he was desperate for release. There was something about watching you, hearing your moans as you climaxed that absolutely drove him wild. He wanted you to do it again, but this time while he was buried deep inside you. He lined himself up, but paused just before, taking a moment to rest his forehead against yours and find your eyes. 

“Is this okay?” He asked, ever the gentleman. Your heart melted. How he could seem so sweet and innocent while he literally was about to fuck you, you didn’t know. The juxtaposition of the two was insane. 

“Yes, Peter. Now fuck me.” You said, and it was as if something snapped within him. Within a moment—before you could breathe, before you could think—he had sheathed himself fully in one thrust, hesitating only a moment before pulling back and doing it again. The pressure was both intense and amazing. 

You were held up by only his arms and the insistent pressing of his body against yours. A gasp escaped your mouth of its own accord as he slammed you back against the door over and over again. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding on for dear life as he took his pleasure. He attacked your neck with the virility of a man starving to death, biting and licking and sucking as if he could not control himself. 

Grunting, he picked up the pace, hips snapping against yours. You could tell he was close by the increasing irregularity of his thrusts, short and shallow and then long and deep before switching again. The sheer unpredictability has you moaning in his ear, to which he responded by snaking an arm down to tease the sensitive nub of flesh between your legs, circling wildly just as he had before until you, too, were gasping for breath and on the edge. A few moments more and you were both tumbling off that precipice, grinding and whining and moaning. 

“Fuck!” He hissed before nearly collapsing. Spent and sated, he sagged against you, tucking his head into the crook between your neck and shoulder. He pressed a lazy kiss there, his breath warm and humid as it fanned over your skin. Meeting his eyes, he straightened to kiss you again, every bit as eager as the first time as you smiled against his skin. 

“‘Fuck’ is right.” You said, easing out a laugh as you stretched up, leaning your head back against the door and looking up at your wrists, rolling them gently in the binds. 

“So, how do we get these off?”

Peter stiffened. 

“They’ll dissolve in like... an hour?” He squeaked, realizing he had neglected to bring the dissolving solution with him. You mulled it over. Having him here, all to yourself for another hour? You couldn’t be mad at that even if you tried. 

“Then you’d better kiss me again.” You giggled, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Really make it worth my while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if,, 😳 we fucked in the attic of a frat house hahaha jk... unless? 😏
> 
> I have been in the attic of 1 (one) frat house and I will Never go back. The most unsexy vibes I’ve ever encountered... thank God for fiction, am I right?


End file.
